If None of this Ever Happened
by NiveGia222
Summary: People were disappearing, homes and whole villages and towns were going up in smoke under bright morsmordres. Wizarding families were about to be made pure again. Angelina was one of those caught, but then again she had not run. M for Lang
1. Chapter 1

Hey, I wrote this some time ago. I tried to change things to make it current but whatever. Enjoy.

___

The blood that had fallen from the woman's once infamous lips began to coagulate on the floor. She wondered how long it would be before _he _came to visit. After every beating he would visit and clean her wounds as well as give her a bit of news from the day, but then again, this time she had seriously fucked up. She did the one thing that every whore shouldn't. She fell in love.

* * *

Five years ago.

Five years ago, during the time of Hogwarts she was happy or at least she would have been had Harry defeated Lord Voldemort. But he hadn't, he and the rest of the order- who weren't dead- escaped to hide and eventually fight another day. Yet with their escape they left the rest of the world to Voldemort and his minions. Muggleborns and those who sympathized were eliminated or captured or forced to go into hiding. Those who were caught were made slaves to be humiliated and abused or simply just kept. People were disappearing, homes and whole villages and towns were going up in smoke under bright morsmordres. Wizarding Families were about to be made pure again.

Angelina was one of those caught, but then again she had not run. A letter came to her London flat, informing her of her pre-evaluation to be a branch in one of the new wizard pure blooded families. But she saw the evil seal and immediately tossed the letter in the fire without so much as opening it.

Three days later a knock came to the door. No one should be visiting her, is what she thought. All her neighbors had fled and she had told her surviving friends and family the truth months ago. She didn't want to be contacted and she didn't want to be saved.

***

Montague thought smoking cigarettes an ugly muggle habit but somehow he'd taken it up. Of course he only ever smoked when he was extremely frazzled and in private. Yet here he was standing outside _her _door, puffing away as if his life depended on it. Last he'd heard, Angelina Johnson was severely depressed over the loss of her fiancé and…well he didn't even want to think about what else she had lost. He could not imagine the pain she was in. He didn't feel sympathy though, he was a death eater after all. He knocked once before vanishing the cigarette. He waited a breath, she had to be home.

His partner and ally, Marcus Flint stood beside him with his arms crossed waiting for Montague to get his shit together. Flint gave Montague a pointed look. What was it about this stupid twat that got Monty's knickers in such a twist? Sure Johnson was a knockout back in Hogwarts and there was even a time he had fancied her for a spin but he soon got over that when he met his future wife.

"I can't believe this shite," Flint grumbled as Montague knocked again, why was he even knocking. Times like these he just felt like Voldemort's little errand boy. He briefly wondered if Johnson was smart enough to-

"_Alohomora" _Flint said and walked right past him.

Inside it was dark and the air was stale. There were dirty dishes everywhere and old dead roses in vases.

"You think she's dressed," Flint asked Montague but was swiftly ignored.

Stepping back further they discovered the flat was charmed and much larger than it appeared. In the back, they came to what could only be the door of the master bedroom.

Flint sighed, "Let's get this over with, I'll wait outside for ten minutes."

Montague nodded as he turned the doorknob, Flint grabbed his shoulder firmly. "Seriously Alexander. You get ten minutes, we have a deadline. If you're not out by then I go in and grab her myself." _Dressed or not._

***

She heard the knocks, the intruders in her home but it didn't matter, not much did these days. She hoped it would come quick, like it had with Fred and their baby she'd lost. The life she couldn't protect, the lives…

Her long black hair hadn't seen a brush in decades. She thought absently, that at least she was clothed. The door opened and she could faintly smell nicotine waft through the room. She laid perfectly still under her maroon comforter. A gryff through and through. She wondered when was the last time she cleaned her gold sheets, Fred had gotten them for her.

She licked her chapped lips, they tasted of old tears. When she cried, she never remembered feeling sad, she just felt empty and therefore her tear ducts moved on their own accord.

She closed her eyes. Moments later, her blanket was pulled back and a cool hand wiped her messy hair from her face.

Angelina took a breath. "Have you come to end me?"

***

Montague couldn't help but touch her. She was still so fucking gorgeous. He's almost cried out when she'd said those words. Everything that was young, and foolish back at Hogwarts was circling him, embracing him. He looked at her flawless face stained with tears. He almost wanted to whimper along with her when she took a shaky breath, making the lips that he once fantasized about, and only touched once quiver. "Have you come to end me?"

That made him slightly annoyed and once again he was Montague the Death Eater, not Montague the boy reduced to mush within a foot of the beautiful Angelina.

"Don't be so cliché Johnson."

Angelina opened her eyes. She knew that voice, it had taunted her on the Quidditch pitch, mocked her on the way to potions and one short evening it had comforted her and told her how much she was wanted and loved.

"You'd mean a lot more to everyone alive."

Angelina met those deep, midnight eyes. Like sapphires they had not lost their intensity or hypnotic shine. She was in utter shock and for a moment so was he. The eye contact they shared was opening up every wound they had ever closed. Montague found himself growing soft, "You should get up."

Angelina swallowed the utterances on her tongue. She had no idea what to do next, so she studied the man she once knew. His face was still handsome, although his features were fully matured, his jaw was smooth and his lips still like cupids bow. There was something about his voice though. Was it always so deep, so rich, so tremble inducing?

"Angelina?"

"Yes…"

"Are you going to stare at me until the next millennia or are you going take a shower and wash off your stink," Montague got up towards the door, " Today you have polite company."


	2. Chapter 2

In the living area, Marcus Flint shuffled through the mail and personal items of Angelina. "_Ministry trash,_ _bill, bill, warning of death eater attacks in the area… blah… blah blah…past due, letter from Mom, letter from Wood, _hmm…Hey Mont, how long you think she's been letting things go to shit like this?" He turned around to see Montague closing the double door to the bedroom.

He walked through her kitchen, nothing moldy or rotten, but very much unwashed and piled haphazardly. Moving around he examined the vases full of dead roses and carnations. Dried lily sprays and chrysanthemums were spilled over in the dining room. There were numerous cards on the table, some torn, others piled on the floor near the fireplace. Where were the house-elves when needed?

After a beat or two, Angelina came out of her room, hair damp fully dressed in the sloppy muggle clothing known as sweats. She wrung her hands in her top. "Would you all like…maybe a cup, cup of tea before…"

"Three lumps in mine please. I like it sweet, no milk."

Nodding and without waiting for Montague's request, the dazed woman padded off to the kitchen. The men eyed her form until she was out of earshot.

"How broken is that one?"

Montague sighed picking up a smashed rose. "She's not broken, just cracked."

Flint scratched the underside of his jaw. "I haven't time for cracked women. The next gathering is in a week and Johnson is sure to be the hot topic. Blood purity will only get her so far when she's been associated with the enemy."

"She'll be ready."


	3. Chapter 3

_Angelina slept soundly cuddled next to her lover until she wakes to the cries of her child. It was her turn. Once out of bed she tiptoes toward the cot. She bends down for the infant. She coos softly and rocks it, "hush, darling. Shh."_

_Behind her the gentle rhythmic snoring of her partner ceases. A shuffling and then, "You know that baby is dead right."_

_Angelina turns around. "What?"_

_The man before her, a morph of Fred Weasley and Marcus Flint chuckles almost knowingly. "You've really gone mad love. You're cracked. That baby is dead. I'm dead. You're de-"_

"Angelina. Wake up."

Montague lounged back in a seat across from the bed Angelina was ruining with her nightmares. He was very curious as to what she was dreaming but there would be time for that later.

He looked upon the rising sun quickly peeking through the shades. Yawning and figuring to himself that at least he could get a few hours of rest in, before dealing with the problem that would soon be Angelina Johnson.

Awake and un-drugged.

Suddenly Angelina gave a strange whimper that made Montague frown. He got closer.

Angelina's face was furrowed, the space between her eyebrows very angry. She had also broken in to a light sweat, considering how cold Montague kept his house that was a feat all its own.

She whimpered again.

"Johnson."

Montague thought it not so strange why he would want to wake her but as he looked upon her, it was the third time he would ask himself exactly who he was helping.

Of course himself.

But maybe…

Surely others like Angelina and the lot associated would benefit, and also the enslaved wizarding world, but maybe the reason he felt so attached to Angelina was be cause he--

"No. Fuck that," he thought.

Montague would literally be damned before admitting anything of the sort. Leaning over Angelina, Montague told Angelina Johnson wake up for a final time.

The woman jarred by the handsome wizard awoke in tears. Seeing his face however in combination with the strange comfort of his body weight had a calming affect on her. He spoke softly to the woman in his guest room. He was interested in the after effects of the potion Flint had administered, wondering if Angelina would be fully cognisant of how she came to be where she was.

"Angelina, do you know where you are?"

She stared up at him in a stupefied state for a few moments before letting out a hiccup.

"Angelina?" he said this time more pressing

She shook her head no.

"Do you remember what you did yesterday?"

Another hiccup as the tears silently stream down her face.

Montague tilted his head, "Do you care?"

Angelina turned over, her back to Montague now, and the truths of her life.

***

The bright light of the afternoon sun was something she was unaccustomed to and wakening to it was something she had not done in almost two years. She looked to where the sunlight was coming from. A sizeable window with no pane, outside she could see the remnants of a hedge labyrinth near a crystal blue lake. It was beautiful scenery.

Out of fairytale almost. Except that Angelina wanted nothing to do with that sort of thing.

The last thing she remembered…sadness

Montague…

…Flint…ugh…

Something was not right…tea…

She had a very strange taste in her mouth. Quickly deciding it must be misery she sat up in the bed. A bed that was distressfully not hers. The colors were a rich dark green.

Slytherin.

Another palpable emotion came to mind.

This one was anger.

Angelina and a whole two and a half generations would hate syltherins…

Architecturally the room was something to marvel at. It was double the size of her room back at her flat. Which she did not wish to think on.

Still in her sweats barefoot she slipped out of the bed to the cold marble floor. She had to go. Somewhere. Anywhere.

Back in the gloom, the familiarity of her depression she could wait for death, but here, outside, there was light,

There were quite a few doors in this room. The first one she tried was a large empty closet. The next a large bathing room. On the opposite side of the room there was another door.

Alright.

This one led to a rather large hallway and Angelina tasted fear.

The room she was in was small compared to what was outside in this massive hall; Angelina decided she was in a castle. Her breath quickened as she hurried anyway she could. Hoping to find a way out soon she became claustrophobic at the thought of getting lost in this place.

She came to a massive winding staircase. She padded down it looking quite insane

"I really am quite curious Johnson. Where exactly is it that you think your going?"

Angelina, down the middle of the stairs looked up. At the top, Montague peered down at her in nothing but a pair of silk pyjama bottoms. Somehow he managed to look intimidating/frightening/fuckingmagnificent/amused/alluring/wicked/ambitious/callous/cold.

"Damn," said Angelina.

He descended toward her, "What?"

Angelina backed away down the staircase. "I hadn't thought that far."


End file.
